A Dangerous Disadvantage
by crimescenegiggles
Summary: Sherlock Baby!AU. Thought to be dead by everyone except Sherlock, Irene Adler comes back to 221B with a huge surprise in store for Mr. Holmes...Rated M for a bit of Sherlene naughtiness!


**A Dangerous Disadvantage**

No. _No. _NO! How? Irene studied her naked self in the mirror. She knew her body better than anything else in the world, what with the experimenting and all the..."presentations". There was a tiny, almost indistinguishable bump between her prominent hips. Barely there. But it was still there all the same. A bead of a tear glided down her cheek and onto the floor. The moment she found out, she just knew.

_Sherlock._

I'm coming to Baker Street. It's important.

I'm in a cab now. –SH

Sherlock knew immediately what the random self-invitation entailed. A hardly difficult deduction, but accepting it would be a whole other story. Sherlock Holmes lost his virginity to Irene Adler on the fourth of March 2012. It was a scheduled predicament, something Sherlock was intrigued by to say the least, but his latest experiment led him to make the decision to do one of the most human things on the planet. Sherlock had intended it to be an experiment, where you carry it out, analyze the data, draw conclusions and drop it to move onto the next one. Although that obviously couldn't happen when there were emotional attachments. Sherlock had feelings for Irene. Of course he did, how could he not when their minds were so perfectly in sync? He was assured of those feelings when she appeared to be dead, on a slab in front of him in the morgue. Mycroft and John were beginning to wonder too, he did take the cigarette after all. It wasn't the feeling of loss that led Sherlock to come to the conclusion that he felt romantically attached to Irene, but it was how she had fooled him in an attempt to generate them from faking her death. It was also the fascination with how he'd been _beaten_, in her words, which were true.

As the sleek, black London taxi drew up to 221B, Sherlock saw Irene in a completely different light. All of the times but their one sexual encounter, she had been perfectly coiffed. Hair piled elegantly on top of her head, lips red as blood, vivaciously dressed. However, the woman sitting hunched over on the doorstep was worlds apart from the dominatrix Sherlock had met all those months ago at the time of the case of the car backfire and, of course, the missing photographs. This woman, her chestnut hair loose, hanging limply in loose waves, no makeup to speak of and wearing a simple grey knit sweater over some overlong jeans, was broken. A smattering of drizzle had started ten minutes previously, Sherlock deduced as he stepped out of the cab not even looking behind as he held out some notes for the cabbie to take, as he noted the amount of moisture of the pavement and the musty smell of petrichor. Irene looked up as (for not the first time) Sherlock held out his black trench coat to her, revealing a tight-fitting plum button-up shirt underneath. All it took was for Irene's ice blue eyes to meet Sherlock's for a single tear to bead and roll down her cheek. Sherlock knelt to Irene's level, took her face in his hand and wiped the moisture away with his thumb and draped his coat over her shoulders without a word.

John balled up his napkin and pushed it inside his coffee mug. He stood up abruptly, causing an immense scraping sound, but what with the busy hum of chatter in the steamy cafe, no one noticed. John grabbed his green-brown coat off the back of his chair, not bothering to put it on as his flat was only next door. The doctor pulled his phone out of his jeans pocket as the door to Speedy's cafe rattled shut behind him, surprised to have no new texts from Sherlock. They usually consisted of requests (or demands) for milk to be bought, or asking him to pass on a message for Molly at St. Bart's inquiring of any new cadavers to be 'of service'.

Closing the door behind him and tossing his keys carelessly into the bowl, John was about to shout his usual 'Sherlock?' as he was half way up the stairs when he heard voices. A _woman's_ voice. John immediately decided that if Sherlock felt it perfectly fine to hack onto his email address and read his private emails to girlfriends, he could abandon courteousness if Sherlock had a woman round. It couldn't be a client, which it didn't seem to be, judging by the tone of Sherlock's voice which was usually bored and businesslike with clients. John pushed the door to the sitting room open with his index and middle finger, where it opened with its usual squeak.

Sherlock's head snapped up, however his right hand had not moved from its gentle resting on Irene's lower abdomen. John's mouth opened, accompanied by a tiny popping sound.

'Johnny boy. It's been so long.' Irene purred, going in for a hug. John made no attempt of reciprocating the gesture, so his arms remained hanging limply at his sides as Irene wrapped him in a perfume-scented hug. John patted her arm awkwardly as she drew away with a smirk playing on the corners of her unpainted lips. John finally found his voice.

'Uhm, hello,' he croaked.

'Judging from your obvious incoherence, I'm guessing I forgot to tell you that Ms Adler is still alive and did not die in Karachi. I should also probably tell you that I know you lied about Mycroft's American witness protection story, obviously, and that I didn't really go on a walk as I went to Karachi to save her,' Sherlock drawled at about a hundred miles an hour.

'Give him time, Sherlock, he's still got some more news to come so try not to overwhelm him just yet, so contain your brilliance for just another minute would you darling?' Irene chuckled, walking up behind him and putting her hands on Sherlock's shoulders, reaching up on her tiptoes to plant a light kiss on his jawbone. Although John could hardly say it was news that there was obvious chemistry between the two, it was probably seeing Sherlock in some kind of intimate embrace with a female (or possibly being called "darling") that bewildered him. John cleared his throat.

'There's mor—news?' he stuttered.

'Yes there's news, Irene just said "there's more news to come" so why must you insist on questioning what has just been stated?' Sherlock snapped.

'Sherlock!' Irene looked wide-eyed in his direction.

'Don't worry, you get used to this amount of git after you've lived with it for two years' John smirked, whereas Sherlock was scowling and had retreated to the sofa with his knees under his chin.

'Sherlock, get back here right now so John can hear our news, or so help me I will drag you back!' Irene simpered, with a hint of malice just to ensure that her message was taken seriously.

'Okay, can someone just tell me what this bloody news is; you're killing me, both of you!' John cried, waving his arms in frustration.

'Alright. As it's going to affect me the most, I guess it's going to be me to tell you. I'm pregnant.' Irene finally got out, as it was the first time she had admitted it to someone out loud (Sherlock doesn't need telling anything).

'And before you ask, yes, it is Sherlock's.'

'R-right'. John finally squeezed out, as his eyes met Sherlock's, then Irene's, and then flickered down to her stomach.

'So are you two like...like a couple now? That's assuming you're going to keep the baby, of course' John floundered, squeezing up his face as he attempted to comprehend not only Sherlock Holmes being sexually intimate with someone, but Sherlock Holmes as a father, for crying out loud.

'Of course I'm going to keep the baby, I _want_ it,' Irene somehow made that sentence not sound like she was a petulant child; 'and as for the couple thing, that's completely up to Sherlock but I—'

'Why wouldn't I want us to be a couple?' Sherlock cut in, looking utterly indignant.

'Don't look at me like that, you know full well why I would think that you wouldn't want to be with me! You're the world's only bloody consulting detective, that's why! You don't _feel_, you just—' Irene's outburst was cut off abruptly by her breath coming out in a whoosh, shortly followed by her knees buckling. Sherlock caught her just in time as she fell into his arms.

Irene was momentarily disorientated by the unfamiliar bedroom she had just been sleeping in. _Sherlock's_ she thought, as she made out the shape of a flimsy blue dressing gown hanging on a hook on the door. The gown swayed slightly as the door opened, and the owner to the room entered. His thick, black curls were slightly mussed up, which Irene noted to herself that she liked. He sat himself down at the foot of the bed, taking his shoes off and as they slipped off the back of the heel, small jerks rocked the bed. Irene was watching him very intently. Was he going to get into bed with her? Her question was answered as soon as it was posed as Sherlock peeled back the sheets and slid in next to Irene. She knew he knew she was awake, so why wasn't he saying anything? He rolled onto his side to face her, and their eyes met. Sherlock tentatively moved his face closer to Irene's. Her heart gave an ecstatic jolt as their lips gently brushed together. He was an inexperienced kisser, but he immediately got the hang of it as Irene showed him how. His tongue slid clumsily into her mouth, as did hers, and a guttural sound at the back of Sherlock's throat caused shivers to go down her spine. Irene wrapped her legs around him, rolled over and straddled him. She was delighted to already feel Sherlock's cock pressing hard against her. They undressed each other very quickly, until Irene was in just her bra and pants (black silk) and Sherlock in some blue boxers. Irene was flipped onto her back as Sherlock moved from her lips to her jaw, to the sensitive skin of her throat...He then continued kissing down her body as he reached her breasts. Irene arched her back a little to allow Sherlock to unclip her bra, then he tossed it gently to the floor. Irene felt Sherlock's hands to be warm as he massaged her breasts, then her breath hitched in her throat as he leant down to slowly lick and suck her nipples. A small moan escaped her as the experience intensified. Sherlock chuckled and continued to venture down her body, leaving a trail of kisses. He reached her underwear. The black silk edged down her legs, and Sherlock got to work on pleasuring her. His tongue quickly found the small nub, and that's when Irene's arousal spiked. Uncaring of whether she would be loud or not, she let out a cry of ecstasy as the waves of pleasure rushed to every extremity. Sherlock looked up. He slowly moved his bare chest up, and pressed it against Irene's breasts. With one quick thrust, he entered her and they both had an intake of breath at the same time. Sherlock began thrusting regularly, his hands entwined with Irene's. Because of the incredible build up, Irene was already halfway there. Within minutes, it was all over. Irene fell asleep with Sherlock Holmes...

Irene awoke with a start. She was in Sherlock's bed, but she was no longer in his arms, nor had she ever been. Her vision was blurred by pathetic tears brought on by her facing the truth that she knew almost immediately: she had dreamed the whole thing. Determined to not let the tears leave her eyes, Irene sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her arm. The door suddenly opened, Irene's heart leapt as she saw Sherlock, but couldn't meet his eyes after what she had just dreamed.

'Oh, sorry. I didn't think you'd be awake ye—are you crying?' Sherlock began, his brow furrowed.

'If you made that deduction from noting my bloodshot eyes, I think you're losing your touch, darling.' Irene smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. 'Why'd you burst in so suddenly? You almost gave me a heart attack!'

'Oh, I thought I heard—never mind.' Sherlock quickly cut off.

'What did you think you heard?' Irene said, struggling to hide the panic in her voice.

'Well, I thought I had a text, but I set it on silent last night when Mrs. Hudson complained about the sound for the eighteenth time' Sherlock began, looking sheepish all of a sudden.

'Don't tell me you kept that ringtone after all of this time,' Irene grinned, raising an eyebrow.

'So if my phone was on silent, the only possible explanation is that you made the noise similar to my text tone,' Sherlock said with triumph, then quickly replaced by bemusement. Irene was completely prepared to ask whether it was alright for her to yawn, when John entered.

'Ah, I thought I heard your voice. D'you mind if I just had a quick listen?' John said, gently nudging past Sherlock and dangling a stethoscope from his index finger.

'Sure' smiled Irene as she slid out of bed, consciously holding her belly with one hand. John walked over to her with the stethoscope and pressed it to Irene's chest, where she flinched at the cold. Irene smirked at Sherlock, but he looked far from a joking mood. Her eyes quickly moved from Sherlock's to John's, where she got a reassuring smile.

'Your heartbeat sounds fine, I just had to check for any irregularities to find out why you fainted last night. Your vitals seem fine, and...you're how many weeks along?'

'Fourteen,' Sherlock cut in as Irene opened her mouth.

'O-okay.' With only a raise of an eyebrow at Sherlock, John turned back to Irene; 'So this is your third month, which means no more morning sickness!'

'Thank God for that, I was beginning to think there was going to be no more food for me to get put off by!'

As John laughed with Irene, Sherlock felt a twisting in his stomach. The concept of love was beginning to become more clear to him as time went by with Irene, he felt it had changed him. And he wasn't sure whether it was for the better or not.

That night, Irene was craving human contact – if a pregnancy craving came in such a form. More specifically, contact with Sherlock. Irene had thought after having sex with him and being pregnant with his child, he'd feel differently about how to be around her. In fact, he looked rather wary whenever he saw her now. _Stupid_. How could she had thought that she could play Happy Families with Sherlock Holmes, for crying out loud. Irene had had enough. If he'd had the news of his impending fatherhood for two days without any sign of emotion, maybe he never would. After repacking the small bag Irene had Kate send over to Baker Street and slipping on the fur coat she wore on New Year's Eve, Irene tiptoed out of 221B. As she reached the silent lounge, the light snapped on with Sherlock in his armchair, hand on the lamp cord.

'Going somewhere?'

'What would you care?' Irene sniffed, fighting the urge to stick out her chin like a defiant child. Something flashed in Sherlock's eyes, and he stood up. Walking incredibly slowly and cautiously towards her, Irene's heart gave a jolt as her eyes met his – with dilated pupils. Sherlock stopped inches from Irene and instead of going to her wrists as they had all those months ago, Sherlock's hands went to her face; pulling her in for a kiss.

The flat was silent apart from the whispering of lips moving in perfect synchronisation and the occasional hum of appreciation from any of the participants. As Sherlock's hands moved from Irene's hair, down to the small of her back where he pulled her against him, Irene gasped and murmured 'John?' With the grunt of an almost unintelligible 'no', Sherlock's lips met Irene's once more. How curious it was, wondered Sherlock, that he could find himself wanting another person so much. That is heart appeared to sing whenever he saw her face. The first and only time he had had a woman was meant to be an experiment, but how could it be? However, this was something entirely different. Sherlock felt a new, crushing weight of something else that gravitated him towards this woman. He knew what it was, and he would no longer say the word with scorn. It was _love._

As they crashed through the bedroom door, Irene was incredible perplexed by the thoughts running through her head. Why wasn't she talking? She would always have witty, flirty things to say to her clients, but with Sherlock she seemed to be completely ruled by her body. Sherlock's hand rose to Irene's chest, feeling her erratic heartbeat. In the kiss, Irene felt the corner of Sherlock's lip twitch ever so slightly. For a taste of his own medicine, Irene pushed his hand to her breast. She gave a chuckle as she saw his impressive eyebrows practically disappear in his now-ruffled hair. _This is taking too long_ Irene thought, she needed Sherlock – now! She had already lost her coat in the lounge, so she scrabbled at the buttons of the simple sweater she was wearing underneath. She pushed Sherlock away at both shoulders and gave him a nudge for him to start undressing as well. Whilst Irene was already in her underwear, Sherlock was appearing to be having some trouble with his trousers. Giving him a light shove onto his back on the bed, Irene crawled over him, pressing a light kiss on his lips and then ripping his trousers off of him to reveal his fully erect penis, straining hard against his boxers.

'Oh, _darling_.' Irene breathes, shimmying Sherlock's boxers down his legs before throwing them behind her, springing Sherlock's erection free.

'Why are _you_ not de-frocked?' Sherlock frowned, his eyes moving to Irene's bra and knickers.

'Just you wait, it'll be worth it' Irene said with a wink. And then she took Sherlock in her mouth. It was so unexpected that Sherlock cried out. His breathing needed to slow down, which was very difficult with Irene's head bobbing up and down on his cock. Sherlock couldn't help but to buck his hips into Irene's mouth.

'God-Irene. Stop! I'm going to fini—' Irene stopped, licking her lips. Sherlock was so high on his new-found emotions and hormone rush that he flipped Irene over, eased the underwear off of her and thrust into her. Irene cried out as his incredible length was pushed in and out of her. Sherlock wanted to intensify her experience as he felt it was only fair, any gently licked her nipple. Teasing her, he did it a few more times. Her nipples had gone hard, small puckered balls on her creamy breasts.

'Oh God Sherlock, if you're going to do it, do it!' Irene moaned, her hands in fists entangled in Sherlock's curls. Sherlock took her nipple in his mouth, his tongue flicking over it in his mouth. It was all too much for them both. Irene pulled his face to hers as they shared a last, tender kiss as they both toppled over the edge together; Irene's muscles bunching around Sherlock. In the flames of their fiery passion, old Sherlock would be absolutely in disbelief if he had heard himself shouting at the top of his voice 'I LOVE YOU!'

**This is my first fanfic, please feel free to review! Might continue if people like the whole Sherlock-with-a-baby thing, but I know it's been done so please PM me any ideas or feedback! Thanks :)**


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